The Blue Spine

I fished for the lighter and found it instead,

wedged in the springs and the dog hair and dirt.

It’s been there since April, the book for the dead,

a blue-covered weight that's beginning to hurt.

The gold leaf is peeling and sticks to my skin,

glittering grease on the wheel as I turn.

On page four hundred twelve, where the mercy begins,

there’s a smudge like a shadow, a slow, quiet burn.